


Dancing With a Limp

by Annaelle



Series: Unbecoming Everything You Are Not [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Peggy Carter, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, I swear, M/M, Multi, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Peggy has No Time For Steve's Shit, Recovery, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Therapy, They all need therapy, They're all trying to deal, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-18 16:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: After everything… After falling apart so thoroughly Steve can barely remember how his various shattered pieces fit together anymore, his friends… his family keep him together. He remembers, constantly, how he had loved, how he had lost, and how he still loves.Perhaps, one day, he will even learn to breathe again.Steve Rogers & Thor-centric. Canon Divergent. Stucky Endgame.





	1. The One With Peggy

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another instalment of this little series.   
> After this one, there is only one more before the bigger piece. There are several timejumps in this fic, but they mostly occur in the second chapter. 
> 
> I absolutely ADORE Peggy Carter, and I have been itching to bring her in for a while now :D This part in the series will also establish the lives of the rest of the Avengers, beyond Steve's PoV. 
> 
> Thanks to Juulna for helping me with this :) I love ya, doll. 
> 
> Much Love,   
> Annaelle

##  Dancing With a Limp

##  “You will have lost someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved.   
But this is also the good news.   
They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”   
—Anne Lamott

 

** ONE **

## November 1943  
U.S. Army base camp, precise location undisclosed, France

## Steve

“I thought you were a dream,” Bucky had whispered, confided, once they’d managed to secure their own tent after Azzano, after Steve had relearned how to kiss Bucky, how to touch him, how to love him with his new hands and new body—after Bucky had spent an appropriate amount of time doing the same to him. “I thought I was dying and God took pity on me, allowed me to dream of you one more time.”

Steve remembered he’d made a hurt little noise at that, that he’d tried to shuffle even closer to Bucky, and that he couldn’t fathom the idea of having to live without Bucky.

“We’re safe for now,” he’d whispered. “I’m never letting you go again. Ever. Promise.”

Bucky hadn’t said anything after that, but he’d held on just as tightly as Steve had.

——————

## Washington D.C., USA   
October 10th, 2011

## Peggy

Peggy Carter looked over the files Anthony had assembled for her and, for a moment, she felt every single one of her ninety years. She sat on young Nicholas Fury’s chair behind his—frankly ostentatious—desk, a series of classified documents spread out on the mahogany surface before her, each more damning than the previous. In the end, they proved, quite indisputably, that Nicholas Fury himself had signed off on isolating Steve—her wonderful, poor, _poor_ Steve—as soon as they could, in order to ensure he would be “more amenable” to their _request_ to join S.H.I.E.L.D.

Her blood _boiled_ at the mere implication, and she had already ensured—through her various, wonderfully loyal contacts that remained from her days as Director—that heads would roll for this.

She understood that, in their line of business, questionable decisions had to be made, but _this_ … _Breaking_ an operative simply because he refused to join their organization was _not_ the way Peggy Carter had done things, and it _certainly_ wasn’t the way she had taught Alexander and Nicholas to run their organization after she’d retired.

She sighed.

Anthony was pacing behind her, muttering to himself about an issue he had run into earlier when hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files, and the constant trotting _would_ annoy her if it were anyone else but Tony. She did adore the boy, her first godchild, and she knew he could never quite stay still.

“Anthony, darling,” she spoke up nonetheless, turning in her seat to look at him. “I think we have quite enough to nail him to the wall, so to speak. No need for such concern.”

Tony looked at her, wide-eyed and evidently caught off-guard before he shook his head. “There’s something else _there,_ though,” he insisted, a near-manic gleam in his eyes. “JARVIS hasn’t gotten through the firewall _yet_ , but with a little more time, I _know_ we could—”

“Tony,” Peggy interrupted tiredly. He was quite brilliant, her darling godchild, but he tended to get carried away. “They’re a secret agency. I’m sure there are quite a few things still there.”

Tony frowned. “That’s a good point.”

Peggy simply shook her head and smiled, turning back to face the door just as it swung open.

“Ah,” she smiled blandly when Fury froze on the doorstep for a split-second before he stepped inside, letting the door swing shut as though he was accustomed to finding his former director and a wayward billionaire in his office. Of course, she mused, showing up unannounced in someone’s office _did_ sound and awful lot like something Tony would do, so perhaps he _was_ accustomed to it.

“Nicholas. Please,” she said calmly. “Have a seat.”

It’d been some time since she’d last conducted an interrogation, but she found she hadn’t quite lost her touch, and Nicholas—though much older than she remembered him—seemed rather unnerved.

Excellent.

She remembered an idealistic young man, fresh out of the army, willing to fight the injustices of the world with everything he had. He’d actually quite reminded her of Steve. Alexander had too, of course, but only insofar that their looks were almost eerily similar—Alexander, though he preferred to be seen as altruistic and kind, was nothing like Steve in personality.

With that in mind, she did find it quite difficult to imagine _Nicholas_ , of all people, who had fought against injustice and manipulation within the system, signing off on what amounted to blatant emotional manipulation and outright abuse of a fellow veteran.

“Dir—Mrs. Carter… Mr. Stark,” the tall man said, obviously struggling not to show how thrown he was by their presence in his office. “I wasn’t told to expect you.”

She smiled. “That is because I did not have anyone tell you.” She raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the chairs before the desk, while she remained seated in what she presumed was Nick’s own chair. “Will you not sit? I think we have some things to discuss.” It was a rather cheap move, if she did say so herself—an easy bit to establish her dominance, but she had to admit it did work _wonders_.

Nicholas was, of course, far too experienced by now to blatantly acknowledge he was intimidated by her, but Peggy Carter had spent most of her life reading people who were exceptionally hard to read, and she could tell he _knew_ why she was there.

She assumed he knew she wouldn’t let this kind of slight stand either.

She may be old, but Peggy Carter was not one to be trifled with at any age. She would not let anyone—not even the agency she had built from the ground up herself—mess with her family.

“Now,” she said when he’d—reluctantly, she observed—taken a seat. “I’m sure you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for _this_.” She shoved the files towards him, taking a perverse kind of pleasure in the way he scrambled to catch a few of the papers that fluttered off the desk.

She was wildly uncomfortable—living to the ripe old age of ninety had its downsides, after all, and creaky joints was one of them—and in a very poor mood, so it felt _good_ to see Fury struggling to find his words as he looked over the papers with an increasingly inscrutable expression. “I do hope you have a satisfying explanation, Nicholas,” she added, raising an eyebrow. “That is, if you’d like to keep your job, and these papers out of the press.”

“Surely you understand,” Fury finally spoke, tense and lowly. “We have to make difficult decisions in our line of work. Captain Rogers is a tremendous asset, and—”

“He is a twenty-eight year old _war_ _veteran_ ,” Peggy hissed. “He lost _everything_ he held dear in the world, and he needed a support system. Genuine _help_ , not isolation so he would be more “amenable” to what you wanted him to do.”

Fury simply raised an eyebrow at her outburst, tilting his head to the side lightly before he replied, calm and clearly measuring his words, “I assure you we did not make this decision lightly. Captain Rogers was in danger of becoming a loose cannon. Our best psychiatrists—”

“—should be _fired_ ,” Peggy practically bellowed. Fury looked taken aback, and she took a deep breath to calm herself, before settling back into her seat. “And they _will_ be fired.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Tony stood, smiling lightly when he shot her a thumbs up. “In fact, they’re being escorted out of the building as we speak.”

“Mrs. Carter,” Fury spoke, voice tight and controlled. “With all due respect, ma’am, you no longer have that kind of authority.” There was a tiny little vein pulsing on his temple, and Peggy found herself quite amused that this man—this man, who only had power because she had _insisted_ he take Alexander’s place when he joined the World Security Council—thought he could tell her what to do.

She would have thought people had learned to stop trying to tell her what to do when she founded S.H.I.E.L.D. in the wake of the S.S.R. trying to force her into a desk job after she and Daniel got married.

“I think you’ll find that I do,” she replied succulently. “And, unless you are hankering to be next, I suggest you think long and hard about making decisions like the one you made with Steve again.”

“ _Oh, snap_ ,” Tony breathed behind her, and Peggy narrowly refrained from rolling her eyes.

While she appreciated the sentiment, it was _hardly_ the time to comment on it.

She kept her gaze firmly locked on the dark-skinned man before her, trying to gauge his reaction to her words. Honestly, he _had_ learned to control his expression in the decade since she had last met with him in person, but there were still miniscule tells that she had learned how to read over her _decades_ of work in espionage.

Her words had clearly hit a nerve, though she was unsure whether he was angry or impressed.

It was, likely, a combination of both.

“Do we understand one another, Director Fury?” she finally spoke, when it became clear the other man was not inclined to speak up anytime soon. While she had originally planned for a much longer conversation, she had no desire to stick around in Washington any longer than she absolutely had to.

Steve was still in New York, with her other godchild and the rest of their ragtag group of friends, and she had waited quite long enough to see him—all of them, truly—again.

Perhaps if she had insisted… if she had not conceded when Becca had told her Steve wasn’t ready to see her yet—hadn’t quite come to terms with the idea of her being ninety yet…

She supposed there was really nothing for it now.

She was here now, and she had no intention of leaving any time soon.

Fury eyed her speculatively before he nodded curtly. “We do, Mrs. Carter,” he said calmly, though she could see the silent anger behind his blank expression.

“Excellent.” She smiled pleasantly before she turned in her seat to look at her godson. “Anthony, darling, do be a dear and fire up the jet, yes? I think it is high time we return to New York.” Tony smirked and saluted—the little shit—before he helped her up—a _thoughtful_ little shit—and hurried out of the room.

“It was a pleasure,” she said blandly, heading towards the door without another look at the man who’d tried to orchestrate a mental breakdown for her former almost-lover. “Oh,” she turned at the door and smiled the most insincere smile she could manage. “You might want to expect a visit from Timothy Dugan too. I hear he and the other Howlies were none too pleased either.”

She didn’t have to look back to know she’d caught him off guard.

Perfect.

Checkmate.

——————

## Outside Salzburg, Austria,   
1944

## Steve

“You do realise,” Gabe had said casually, while he and Steve were pouring over the maps to locate their next target, “that we all know what you and Sarge get up to in your tent at night, right?”

Steve had stiffened, and he’d fought to control the unadulterated _fear_ that shot through his veins at the mere idea of someone _knowing_ about him and Bucky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he’d replied carefully, measuring each word painstakingly. “Only thing we get up to is strategy planning.”

Gabe had snorted, and if he weren’t so fucking _terrified_ , Steve would have winced at his own dreadful excuse, but he _was_ terrified. “Hey,” Gabe’d grabbed at Steve’s arm—none too gently—and Steve had realised he was panting, his breath coming fast and harsh, and his head had been spinning. “Cap. Steve. We don’t care. We _don’t_ care. None of us care. We ain’t ratting you out.”

He’d focused his attention on Gabe’s dark eyes, grasping desperately at the sincerity he saw in them. “You don’t care?” he’d whispered. “That we’re—”

“You’re _ours_ ,” Gabe had replied fiercely, fingers digging into Steve’s biceps unforgivingly. “We’d give our lives for yours and you’d do the same for us. You got our backs. That’s _all_ we care about.”

“Okay,” Steve had whispered, still dazed and a little afraid.

“Okay,” Gabe had nodded, turning back to the map, and the moment passed, almost like it had never happened to begin with.

——————

## Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, New York, USA   
October 10th, 2011

## Peggy

Returning to New York was far less of a hassle with the convenient use of Anthony’s private jet, especially considering the brief stop they had to make to liberate Timothy from his awfully strict nursing home. She supposed she could understand the orderlies’ reluctance to let the elderly man wander around without proper medical care—he _was_ , after all, a ninety-nine year old man—but it was rather tedious to have to convince everyone they were not going to get Timothy killed on a simple trip to New York.

“They like to pretend I’m made of glass,” Dum Dum grumbled to her as Anthony maneuvered his wheelchair onto the jet, setting him and Peggy up comfortably, side-by-side so they could chat while Tony flew them directly to the Avengers Tower. “I fought in goddamned World War II. I ain’t fragile.”

“Of course you’re not,” Peggy patted his hand consolingly.

It was, otherwise, a rather uneventful flight, and it gave her ample time to consider what to say to Steve when she saw him, although she was well aware that she would likely forget whatever ingenious speech she concocted the second she’d lay eyes on him.

It had always been like that.

Steve had had _something_ about him that drew her in—a sincerity she missed in others who’d tried and failed to follow in his footsteps. Something that had broken her heart, in the end.

She had always known, of course, of his feelings for Sergeant Barnes.

A blind woman would have noticed the way Steve _lit up_ for Barnes.

Yet there had been a faint trace of hope, lingering in her heart, a tiny flame fanned into enduring every time Steve shared a smile with her, every time his gaze lingered on her, and every time he blushed when she brazenly dared to flirt with him.

She didn’t think Steve hadn’t cared for her at all. There was, after all, quite some evidence to the contrary. However, there had been a war on, and the time they had spent together was limited and, as she looked back on it, filled with mostly shallow conversations. She had known only the things Steve had chosen to show her, and he had known only the barest facts she had chosen to share.

Perhaps the spark between them would not have survived peace time at all.

It was a question she would, sadly, never truly see answered, and though she had mourned Steve and what they could have been, she was forced to confront that her broken heart lay far beyond Steve’s death. It was, in essence, a broken heart that originated from Steve’s whispered, “ _I don’t know how to breathe without him, Peggy_ ,” before the connection had been severed.

Even in death, it seemed, Bucky Barnes had a hold over Steve’s heart that no one could break.

She had not understood the _ache_ he lived with after he watched Barnes fall. She could not have, not truly, not until she had lost Daniel, so shortly after they’d married. Not until she woke up beside Angie, realizing that her wife had fallen asleep and simply stopped breathing, only a few short years ago.

It felt quite impossible, both times, to remember how to _breathe_ without their breath moving in tandem with her own, even though she had not spent nearly as long with Daniel as Steve had with Barnes, and even though she and Angie were never as incredibly close and dependent on each other as Steve and Barnes had been.

She’d spoken of it with Barnes, once. Only once.

It’d been after he’d taken a bullet to the upper thigh on a mission, while Steve was still pacing outside, shouting at whoever would listen that he wanted to be let in, that he wanted to see Bucky, to see that he was alive and well with his own two eyes.

“He loves you, you know?” Barnes had said casually, as though he weren’t pale and sweaty, weak as a newborn kitten after the blood loss. “If you wanted… you could have him.”

She’d been surprised, to say the least.

“Ah,” she’d sighed eventually, having weighed and measured her words for a long time before she found a way to speak them aloud, waiting until Barnes’ doctor had been pulled from the room to attempt to wrangle Steve into behaving before she spoke. “I could have him, I suppose, but I could never keep him. He has been yours, I think, for a very long time indeed.”

Barnes had looked surprised at that, and then wary, as she supposed was his right. It was, indeed, very dangerous knowledge to have, and to share out loud. “He don’t always know what’s good for him,” Barnes had finally slurred, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “He’s a handful, but… ain’t no better feeling in the world than bein’ loved by Steve Rogers.”

Steve had burst in after that, looking rather frazzled and frightened and had honed in on Barnes like he didn’t even realise there was anyone else in the room, and Peggy had known then.

For Steve, there would never be anyone else in the room.

She imagined it was in fact _very_ wonderful, even exhilarating beyond anything else in the world, to be truly loved by Steve Rogers—the man had never done anything in his life by halves, and she knew he would not love by halves either—but she did not think she would ever experience it.

When he was lost to them, Peggy mourned. Mourned what they might have been, mourned the man she could easily have fallen in love with, mourned the friend she had gotten to know quite well.

But she rejoiced, for surely wherever they were now, Steve and Barnes were together.

That, at least, provided a measure of comfort.

Unfortunately, it did very little for her presently.

Nervous energy, the likes of which she had not felt since either of her respective wedding days, curled in the pit of her stomach, filling her with the impossible urge to fidget. It was hardly proper behavior, but she found herself picking at her nails, twirling both of her wedding rings, and bouncing her leg the entire flight to the Tower.

Fortunately, they were awaited by Tony’s two lovely partners and Rebecca, who greeted her and Dum Dum with barely contained enthusiasm.

Peggy had, of course, met with the lovely Pepper and the dapper James before, but it had been quite some time since she had seen the both of them in person, let alone the three partners all together at once. Why, the last time she had seen them, the two men had hardly admitted their feelings for Pepper to each other, much less to the woman herself.

Rebecca—her sweet, darling, second godchild—was the most exuberantly enthusiastic to see her, though Peggy suspected it a mere byproduct of her relative youth compared to the others on the platform. It had also been much longer since she had seen Becca, because Tony made it a point to fly in to see her every few months, at least, and his Pepper Potts stopped by for tea every time she was in the U.K.

Still, she hugged them all, and took her time to greet them warmly, for she had missed them, and it was incredibly easy to divert her nervous attention to the trio before her.

“Uncle Gabe’s already here,” Becca informed her sagely. She gestured vaguely to the large door that led, as Peggy had been informed, to the common floor of the Tower, designed to be used by the entire team. Indeed, when she strained her eyes, she could see the vaguely blurred shape of a man sitting on the sofa by the glass wall.

“We’ve…” Pepper hesitated and exchanged a glance with Rebecca and James before she continued. “We’ve not told Steve you’d be here yet.” She held up her hand to fend off their protests before Peggy could even open her mouth, and she couldn’t help but smile—Tony had chosen well.

“We discussed it with his therapist at length,” she continued calmly. “While he’s doing better, his mental state is still incredibly fragile and unstable. We feared his anxiety would only be worse if he was left to await your arrival. Thor should be with him now.” Pepper glanced to Rebecca, who glanced down at her phone and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah,” Becca asserted. “He’s going to tell Steve you’re here to see him.”

“Is this Thor capable of handling Cap?” Dum Dum groused, wiggling in his wheelchair. “We all remember how stubborn he can be when he’s set his mind to something.”

Becca snorted, seemingly before she could stop herself, and crossed the landing pad to pat Dum Dum’s shoulder. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. Physically, he’s _more_ than capable of taking Steve down, if need be, and he’s one of Steve’s closest friends in this century.”

It was a stark reminder of Steve’s unique situation, but it also warmed Peggy’s heart to see this group of people—so young, in so many ways, while also terribly experienced—care so deeply for her Steve.

“Well then,” she said after a brief, semi-comfortable silence. “Shall we?”

——————


	2. The One With Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! 
> 
> This chapter is rather heavy on exposition, but I promise, it's all needed to further the plot! Following this, there is only one (maybe two) more oneshot(s) before the next bigger work will be posted! That'll be a doozy, taking place during... canon-TWS... With minor alterations, of course. 
> 
> I hope to see you all there, and that you enjoy this little peek into Thor's side of the story!
> 
> Much love, Annaelle

** TWO **

## Red Hook, Brooklyn, U.S.A.  
July 1939

## Steve

Steve had always liked looking at Bucky Barnes.

Even when they had been children, Bucky had been unfairly handsome. Winifred Barnes’ exceptional good looks had passed to her son and her daughters, leaving them with unfairly stunning blue-grey eyes and dark, wavy hair that looked so soft Steve’s fingers _itched_ to touch every time he and Bucky were in the same room.

He’d had a breathtaking smile that made everyone within a five-foot radius weak in the knees, even when he had been no more than a toddler. Bucky had _oozed_ charm, and people had always been drawn to him like flies to honey, and Steve had been no exception.

It’d always been a mystery to Steve why Bucky—that handsome, clever, charming boy, who certainly had much better options—had chosen _Steve_ , of all people, to be his best friend.

 _Steve_ , who had most decidedly _not_ been charming and witty, nor a very handsome child. Steve, who spent most of his afternoons on the playground being pushed around by the bigger kids, who had permanently scuffed knees and elbows and a knobby spine that made him walk a little crooked.

He’d never been very popular at all, unlike Bucky.

Steve had found, eventually, that he did not care. He hadn’t cared that he didn’t have very many friends, because he had Bucky. He hadn’t cared that the teachers spoke of him in hushed voices, exchanging disapproving comments about his parentage and health, because he’d had Bucky. He hadn’t cared that dates usually ignored him and left early, because he’d had Bucky.

He’d had Bucky.

He’d had Bucky.

Even when the world had been falling apart, and Nazism had taken Europe little by little, and countries had begun slinging thinly veiled threats at one another, and even people in Steve’s own little corner of the world had begun stirring restlessly… Steve had never stopped looking at Bucky Barnes, because Steve had had him, and it’d made everything feel just a little bit easier.

——————

## Gramercy Terrace, Gramercy Park Hotel, Manhattan, New York City, New York, USA   
October 15th, 2011

## Thor

Thor had found that being granted permission to act as Asgard’s official envoy—with the caveat that he continued to bear the title of crown prince, rather than abdicate, as he had initially intended—on Earth had far more drawbacks than he had initially anticipated.

Truthfully, he had not taken the time to assiduously consider the proposal his father had laid out before him in response to Thor’s confession of his apathy towards taking the throne after Loki’s death. Following Malekith’s fall and a short reunion with his Avenger friends, who had come to his aid as soon as they heard of the upset caused in Greenwich, Thor had returned to see Asgard to rights and to see Loki to proper burial. He was interested in that much, at least, if nothing more.

He’d intended to return to Svartalfheim himself, to find Loki’s body and remove the temporary shroud Thor had fashioned so he could bring his body back to Asgard. He would see him to a funeral worthy of the king he would have been, by Thor’s side, if fate had been kinder.

He’d been informed by his father, quite dispassionately, that since Thor had seen to Loki’s body—however much Thor had intended for the shroud to be temporary—all remaining portals and entrances to Svartalfheim had been sealed permanently. The realm had become increasingly unstable in the aftermath of the Convergence, and in light of the danger it posed to Asgard, Odin had decided to cut it off entirely, as soon as possible.

His father—his _king_ —had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would never be allowed to return.

Not even to retrieve Loki’s body.

Thor was, honestly, not entirely certain how he had responded to that, but given that he had awoken nearly four days later in what remained of Loki’s cell in the dungeons, he assumed it had not been particularly wise, nor very becoming of the Prince of Asgard.

His father had, in an inexplicable and relatively unexpected moment of mercy, granted him absolution for attempting to do harm to his king, and had invited Thor to share his grievances.

Thor had not been in a sharing mood and had left his father in the empty throne room, instead seeking out his friends. Because he had been _certain_ that they would understand, that they would _support_ him and aid him in his quest to retrieve Loki.

He had spoken eloquently, he thought, and passionately, as he was wont to do when attempting to persuade the Warriors and Lady Sif into joining him on whatever foolhardy quest he had come up with. Usually, he did not have to _finish_ his speeches—the Warriors would state their loyalty to him, and Lady Sif would proclaim them all fools before she too would agree to join them.

It had not turned out as such; not this time.

This time, he had found his friends more silent, withdrawn, and unsure than he had ever seen them before.

Sif had tried to be kind, Thor was sure, when she had leaned forward and put her hand on his arm, when she had looked to Fandral and Hogun for support before she spoke, when Volstag had nodded at her. She had tried to find the correct words when she’d told him, softly, that they did not disagree with their king’s decision on this.

Hogun, too, had tried to reason that Loki’s body _had_ been put to rest, that there was no reason for Thor to risk disavowing his father’s orders _again,_ or to risk the stability of the realms by re-opening a portal.

Fandral, foolishly, and far more inebriated than the conversation warranted, had added, “Not like Loki did you any favors while he was alive. Why risk your hide for him now that he’s not?”

Thor had managed to refrain from taking Mjölnir to his skull.

Barely.

He’d left them to their drinks and their poorly concealed distaste for Thor’s late brother-betrothed and returned to the palace. He had already intended on demanding to be absolved of his title as crown prince, had already intended to _make_ his father understand that remaining on Asgard would only cause him more _agony_ , for memories of his mother and of Loki were _everywhere_.

He had not thought his father would grant his wish quite so… easily.

He should have realized then that there would be… _consequences_. That there would be conditions and assignments that Thor could not and would not have considered in his haste to leave the painful memory of his mother and his brother-betrothed behind.

As it had stood, he had grasped at the opportunity to be Asgard’s official ambassador with both hands, and managed to keep himself together with sheer will and bravado until he made it back to Earth, to Steven and the Avengers, who seemed to be the only ones to understand that he _ached_ —that he _needed_ to grieve, to shatter into a million pieces so he could put himself together .

He had landed on Steven’s balcony and had barely even laid eyes upon his friend before he had done exactly that. The cry that had wrenched itself from his lips then had felt like it was being _torn_ from him, just like his mother and Loki had been.

Their loss had not felt like _loss_.

No, their losses felt as though they had been _ripped_ from him violently, leaving gaping wounds where they used to fit into his very _soul_. Thor was no stranger to pain and loss, but he had never, in all his fifteen hundred years, felt _anything_ like this before.  This… this ache had been raw and fundamental, reaching so deep into him that it was almost like his very _bones_ ached with it.

He’d wished so readily to return to Asgard, to find his mother in her gardens, humming songs with no words to her flowers and plants, Loki sprawled by her feet with an invaluable tome of whichever form of Seiðr caught his attention.

He’d wanted the woman who had played games with him when he had been a child, who had held him after his first defeat and had ensured he remained somewhat humble after his first victory. He’d wanted the brother he had learned to love as though he were a part of Thor’s soul, who he had planned to marry and begin a family of their own with, who had played pranks on him from the moment he learned how to walk and who had chosen Thor so often in so many ways, Thor feared he’d never know all the sacrifices Loki had made for him.

He wanted them back.

He wanted to crawl into his mother’s arms and cry until he had no tears left, but he _couldn’t_.

He couldn’t ever hold either of them again.

If he’d had anything of value left to offer, he would have taken to the Norns, imploring them to return his mother and his brother-betrothed to him, for surely he could not live without them.

Surely he would not recall how to draw breath, how to function, how to _be_ —

He had, in fact, cried until he had no tears left, that first night.

Steven had found him not too long after he arrived and had simply sat with him. Lady Rebecca had found them around dawn, scoffed at them and went back inside, only to return with a soft blanket. Thor hardly remembered any specifics of that night and morning, but he recalled that she had bullied them both off the cold concrete floor and onto the soft cushions of the patio furniture, shoving them around as she pleased until she could cover them all with the blanket she had procured.

He did not remember much of that night or morning, but he _did_ remember that he had, eventually, found sleep, soothed by the sound of Steven’s steady heartbeat and Rebecca’s quiet breaths.

The loss still _ached_ , still felt as though their absence had created a void in his very _soul_ , leaving an open wound with throbbing edges that did not feel as though it would ever heal, but he’d since remembered that he _could_ breathe. Each breath taken without his mother and Loki _burned_ in his lungs still and the casual indifference for anything but Thor’s own suffering shown by Lady Sif and the Warriors Three stung _deeply_ … but at least he could _breathe_.

He had attempted to adjust to life with the Avengers, but he had found it much harder to do so than he had anticipated. He had spent much of his life living in places other than Asgard, had been forced to adjust to a myriad of cultures before—but he had never found it as impossible as it seemed now.

He admired them—the Avengers, particularly, but mortals in general—but he found he had very little understanding for their fast-paced, semi-peaceful way of life.

Even the Lady Jane, who Thor had come to admire for her strong will and intellect, was… infuriatingly and undeniably mortal in many ways, and it had astonished him to find she had taken his kindness and admiration of her character to mean he was romantically interested in her, despite knowing of his betrothal and loyalty to Loki.

He had not wished to sever contact initially, but it had turned out to be the best thing for them both, at the time. It had, sadly, left Thor with more questions than answers, when it came to mortals and their lives. They seemed to always be incredibly busy, displaying an incapability to sit still that Thor might have found impressive if it did not involve Anthony and Rebecca—and, on occasion, Lady Pepper—dragging him around the city to see various sights and meet various people they deemed essential for him to meet.

It was, admittedly, not the worst way to spend his first couple of weeks on Earth.

Rebecca’s grandmother, who had insisted Thor join Steve and Rebecca on their weekly Sunday dinner as soon as she learned he did not have prior engagements, had pinched his cheeks with a humorous glint in her eye and called him “young man”, as though he were a mere boy, less than five centuries old.

Thor _had_ enjoyed the familial atmosphere in the cozy house, though, and found a small measure of comfort in the way Becca’s grandmother treated him. He had enjoyed the opportunity to see another side of his friends—Steven was much less burdened in the elder Rebecca’s presence, especially following Lady Carter’s visit, much less prone to hunching over to make himself appear smaller, more eager to smile, to laugh wildly and unrestrainedly.

Thor thought he might very well catch a glimpse of what Steven must have been like before the loss of his soul. None of the Barneses could replace the man Steven had lost, of course, but Thor could tell that the other man found comfort in the traces of his Bucky that remained in his relatives.

Rebecca—the younger, that is—was similarly affected by her family’s presence. Her gaze had struck him as too knowledgeable, too wise for her age, and though she often behaved as though she was as young and unburdened as she appeared at first glance, he suspected some of it was a front to hide a desperate vulnerability.

He did not know her story as he knew Steven’s, but he had learned she had fought in her country’s armed forces—he had seen men and women with eyes like Becca’s many a time before. He didn’t need more information about her story to suspect what things she struggled with.

He had, on occasion, struggled with such things himself. He had not, not truly, in many centuries, because the truest blessing of Asgardian lifespans was that, eventually, the memories _did_ fade. The horror and the gore of war, the pain and the suffering that he saw _and_ caused… it haunted him still, sometimes, but it did not consume him—not the way it had when he had been younger.

It had been… gratifying, to spend time with Rebecca’s family, and with Steven… with those who cherished the lives of those they’d loved and lost in a way Thor had never quite experienced before.

Of course, such gratifying moments were easily offset by those… _less_ gratifying.

His official position as ambassador of Asgard required he meet a plethora of important men and women, all of whom wanted _something_ out of him.  Be it that they wanted to be the first nation to establish trade routes with Asgard—though none seemed entirely certain what said trade routes would be trading—or that they wanted to have the crown prince’s ear…

Thor found it all incredibly tedious.

Loki had always been the one tasked with diplomacy in the past. While Odin had not shown blatant approval for any of Loki’s talents, he would have been a fool to deny that Loki’s silver tongue was capable of defusing even the tensest of conflicts and sway the most stubborn of kings. Thor was, perhaps, the chosen prince to ascend to the throne, but he had always known he would not succeed as king without Loki by his side.

His own temper left far too little room for intricate political games and hidden agendas. 

Which was probably why Lady Pepper thought it prudent to pull him from a meeting with the Undersecretary of the World Security Council, Alexander Pierce, before Thor lost said temper—he had no idea what the man’s job _actually_ entailed—other than firing weapons at a city filled with millions of innocent souls—but he had the look of the nobles that hung around the court on Asgard every day, hoping to gain his father’s favor—to gain the power that came along with such favor.

Thor did not dislike him, per se, but he did not find the man pleasant company either.

He also found himself wondering what Loki would have made of him, and that was enough to make Thor want to be somewhere else.

The car Lady Pepper had called to ferry them back to the Avengers Tower was comfortable beyond any other means of transportation he had ever had the pleasure of utilizing, and he very nearly melted into the soft black leather seats. It was large enough in the back that he and Lady Pepper could sit opposite each other without bothering one another, and so that his legs did not feel cramped.

Thor, admittedly, allowed his attention to drift, studying the buildings that they passed. Midgardian architecture was so very different from Asgardian architecture that it still baffled Thor, although he and Steven had spent many a day with the to look at pictures of distant lands, that boasted very different kinds of buildings than New York.

Thor did hope he would get the opportunity to see all of Midgard’s beauty one day.

He chanced a glance towards Lady Pepper, but she was occupied on her phone, busily tapping at a larger screen that was perched on her lap, and Thor was loathe to disturb the lady when she was so very clearly working. The Lady Pepper had been incredibly attentive to him all day, guiding him to his meetings and steering him away from creating any international incidents. She had only stepped away to speak on her device twice throughout the entire day.

Thor was certain that she had many more important things to do, so he much appreciated that she had chosen to donate so much of her time to him, and he resolved to let her be now.

He did not, honestly, feel much like speaking anyway.

Fortunately, their journey did not last much longer, and Lady Pepper bade him goodbye in the lobby of the Tower, citing a need to visit her office before she too returned to the personal floors.

He ignored the puzzled looks he was thrown as he strode through the lobby towards the elevator Anthony had assured him was for Avengers and family use only. He was quite used to it after a few weeks on Midgard—people here seemed incredibly eager to see him and the other Avengers doing mundane things—although he did find the constant attention somewhat irksome.

It was true, he had once thrived on such attentions, but after everything that had happened…

He supposed he longed for a sense of anonymity.

“Hello J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Thor said jovially when he entered the elevator. He quite liked the disembodied voice that controlled the Tower and took care of its inhabitants. It was a kind voice, one that reminded him of his mother at times; especially when it would caution Anthony or Bruce from taking certain actions that could be deemed as especially… unwise.

“Good afternoon, Master Thor,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied dryly. “Captain Rogers and Captain Barnes are on the common floor with Agent Romanoff, Dr. Banner, Colonel Rhodes, and Sir. Would you like to be directed there as well?”

“That would be marvelous,” Thor smiled, but did not continue a conversation with the A.I. as he normally would. He was, honestly, rather tired, and though he fully intended to join Steven and the others, he did not doubt he would soon excuse himself to the floor he shared with Steven and Rebecca.

Thor had been told that, in the wake of the Battle of New York and Steven’s… breakdown, as Stark had referred to it, Anthony had insisted on upgrading security systems on all of the Avengers’ private residences—Steven and Rebecca had been forced to relocate to the Tower temporarily, while their apartment was being updated. Thor, when he arrived on Earth, had elected to stay with them rather than use an entirely separate floor only for himself.

The elevator doors opened onto the common floor, and Thor immediately saw Colonel Rhodes seated on the sofa and deep in conversation with Dr. Banner and Steven, although he leaned back into Anthony’s gentle touch when the other man walked past behind him.

The Lady Natasha was there also, curled up on a small sofa with a book, although her eyes frequently left the page to gaze towards the kitchen. Thor followed her gaze curiously, only somewhat taken aback to find Rebecca the recipient of the Widow’s intense gaze. Steven had spoken of Rebecca and Natasha’s complicated relationship a little, and Thor recalled the heated argument between the two women on the Helicarrier, even though he had been preoccupied with Loki at the time.

Rebecca had been remarkably tightlipped on the matter, and Thor had not been of a mind to push for more information from his new friend.

He observed the two now, because theirs was the only relationship in this Tower that he did not think he understood. Steven and Rebecca were as siblings, prone to teasing one another, but fierce in their affection as well. Stark and his Pepper and his Rhodey were deeply in love, and it was plain for anyone to see. Thor thought it admirable, really, that they had found happiness in a way that was deemed entirely unconventional by their own society.

Even Lady Natasha and Clint’s relationship was easier to categorize and understand.

Rebecca did not appear to be paying much attention to those in the living area, although she did turn to wave at Thor excitedly before she returned her attention to the pan in front of her, forehead creasing into a tiny frown as she poked at its contents with a wooden spoon.

It was a beautiful thing to see, Thor mused, such deep sense of comfort and friendship, but it lit an aching longing deep within his soul as well. He had had such a relationship with Lady Sif, with Fandral and Volstag and Hogun, but he feared it forever tainted as a result of their reaction to Loki’s death.

Rather abruptly, he realized that he had never been quite this alone in his entire life.

The homely atmosphere in the room abruptly turned entirely too stifling and Thor turned, barely keeping himself from fleeing as he moved towards the balcony. He had always felt more comfortable beneath an open sky, where he could see the stars, and feel the rain and the wind upon his skin.

The sounds of the city were fainter up here, and the winds were cold, although it did nothing to invigorate him. It almost _itched_ , beneath his skin, the need to _go_ , to run, to _hide_ from the confusing maelstrom of feelings that seeing his Avenger friends acting like the family they were unleashed. It didn’t _quite_ feel like the lightning, but its call was similarly tempting and frightening.

Seeing the Barneses had been a comfort, but seeing this… his friends…. It was different.

“Hey. You doing okay there?”

Thor looked up, somewhat surprised to find Rebecca leaning in the doorway, a blue and white sweater much too large to be her own—he supposed it must be Steve’s—wrapped tightly around her torso, arms crossed over her chest. She looked at him with concern, and though it felt stifling still, Thor felt an unexpected feeling of _relief_. Someone cared that he was not well, without reminding him of his duties.

Even so.

“I assure you,” he said, carefully keeping his voice level. “I’m quite fine.”

Becca smiled sadly. “No, you’re not.”

Thor blinked, unsure of how to respond to being called out on his lie quite so brazenly, but before he could formulate a response, Rebecca had pushed off the doorjamb and ambled towards him, tripping a little over her own socked feet before she reached him.

“You look like you need a hug,” she said frankly, patting his arm. “Do you want one?”

Thor was still a little baffled by her audacity, but he had to admit that having someone hold him sounded _wonderful_ , and he nodded before he had truly thought about it. Becca smiled at him, sweet and kind, and tiptoed to wrap her arms around him, and Thor leaned down to meet her, because he _wanted_ to feel safe again, wanted to feel treasured and _not alone_ , even if it was a human offering said feeling.

She was much smaller than he, of course, and though she certainly did her best, she couldn’t truly wrap him up in her arms. It felt familiar—all the people he had embraced in his life tended to be smaller and slighter than him—but also entirely new, and it was a startlingly comforting feeling.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning forward so his head rested on her shoulder, tears stinging in his eyes. The last person to embrace him had been his mother and, while he would have liked to have that memory of her untainted for the rest of his existence, he had _missed_ being held.

Knowing that, admittedly, made him feel worse

“I got you,” she whispered, rubbing a hand up and down his back when he, against all his wishes, let out a choked-off sob. “I got you. You’re not alone, Thor. I got you. Steve’s got you. We’ve all got you.”

Thor clutched at the back of her overly large sweater and prayed to the Norns that that was true.

——————

## Italy, Europe   
January 1944

“You know, if you wanted,” Bucky whispered one night, when they’d been tangled together in Steve’s spacious officer tent. “If you wanted, I’d step aside.”

They’d spent the entire day fighting tooth and nail to gain back territory, to push the Germans back step by step until they’d be purged from Italy altogether, and Steve had been exhausted, covered in dirt and blood and sweat. He’d also been _happy_ , because none of his boys had been hurt and Peggy had shown up, looking gorgeous and dangerously competent as always, and he’d gotten a tent all to himself, which meant he had some time alone with Bucky.

Well. He’d not been happy, _per se_ , because there _was_ a war on, but he’d been content.

Until Bucky had tried to ruin it, of course.

“What are you talking about?” Steve demanded, digging his fingers into the meat of Bucky’s ass, dragging him as close as physically possible, as if that would take away the implication of Bucky’s words.

“Stevie,” Bucky sighed. “I ain’t blind. I see the way you look at Carter. I see how she looks back.” He looked at Steve with the most heartbreakingly earnest look in his eyes and whispered, “You could get married. You could have _kids_ with her, Stevie. I ain’t gonna stand in the way of you getting that baseball team you’ve always wanted.”

The thing… the thing was that Steve _knew_ Bucky meant every word.

If Steve gave him any sort of indication that he wanted to be with Peggy, Bucky would smile sadly and step aside, letting Steve live the life Bucky had convinced himself Steve wanted.

“Bucky, I don’t want that,” Steve insisted after a moment of shock, pressing his hand to Bucky’s cheek when the other man began to protest. “I don’t want that unless it’s with you.” He leaned in and kissed the other man before he could protest again, before Bucky could be _logical_ about it.

“I like Peg,” Steve admitted quietly when Bucky broke the kiss. “I like Peg a lot. But she ain’t you, Bucky. I ain’t ever gonna love anyone the way I love you.”

It hadn’t been the end of it—because Bucky was nothing if not determined, and Steve was nothing if not weak for that stupid, _stupid_ man—but it had at least been the last time Bucky had explicitly offered to step aside. He’d tried to offer again in other ways—withdrawing or stepping away when Peggy arrived, setting her and Steve up for accidental dates, explicitly telling Peggy herself that he could talk to Steve—but he never again tried to tell Steve directly what to do.

Not on that topic, at least.

It wasn’t perfect, but… Steve thought it worked.

And it had.

Until Bucky fell from a train.

——————

## Avengers Tower, Manhattan, New York City, U.S.A.   
December 20th, 2011

## Thor

Thor supposed, in a sense, that he was doing… better.

His head felt a lot less… clouded, was as good a word as any, and rational thought felt much less obscured than it had in those atrocious first few days following his mother’s and Loki’s deaths. He had found, eventually, that life was much easier to bear when he focused his attentions on his friends and their respective struggles and lives. For mortals with such remarkably short lifespans, humans were exceptionally talented at creating dramatics unlike any Thor had ever witnessed—and in a shorter timespan than he had ever thought reasonably possible too.

It was, in all honesty, somewhat entertaining.

Or, at least, it would be, were it not that said dramatics caused Thor’s friends quite some distress.

He had come upon Lady Natasha and Rebecca in their shared living area, having been roused from a restful sleep by their raised voices—he was not certain what he had expected, but he had been quite sure it wasn’t to find an irate Rebecca shouting at a rather flustered Natasha.

It was obvious, he found, given Rebecca’s red-rimmed eyes, that shone with more unshed tears, and Lady Natasha’s uncharacteristically diminutive posture, that something had finally occurred between the two—although Thor sincerely doubted it was something good. He watched, startled, as Rebecca violently flinched away from Natasha’s touch when the other woman gathered the courage to reach for her, eyes dark with tears and barely restrained fury.

“You could have said _no_!” Rebecca shouted, glaring at Natasha so hard Thor was almost surprised—and grudgingly impressed—that the other woman didn’t wither beneath Becca’s hateful gaze.

He shuffled uncomfortably, unsure if he should announce his presence, because neither woman had turned to acknowledge him, and he did not think they even realized he was there at all. Before he could decide on the best course of action, Lady Natasha spoke again, and Thor froze, curious despite himself.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” the Widow said, in what she likely thought was a soothing tone. “I thought it’d be… better this way.” The words came off far more condescending than Thor imagined she meant them, and he flinched a little at Rebecca’s sharp, derisive laughter, as though it was meant for him instead. He did not, however, retreat back to his own room—he was, at this point, far too concerned about his friends to leave the two.

“Better?” Becca demanded sharply. “You thought _this_ ,” she waved at the room, likely indicating their entire situation, “would be _better_?” Her voice rose to a fever pitch, and Thor could tell she was on the verge of collapse. “I told you I _loved you_ ,” Becca croaked, voice breaking on the last word. “And you thought the best way to deal with that was to sleep with me, and then sneak out to _Clint’s_ bed?!”

“You did _what_?”

Thor’s eyes snapped from the two quarreling women to Steven, who had appeared in the doorway to their kitchen, dressed as though he had only just rolled out of bed—which was not an unreasonable assumption, Thor mused, given that the sun had not even risen yet. Steven struck an odd sight, with his hair sticking up in various directions and pillow marks creasing his face, bur righteous fury burning in his eyes.

“Steve, I’m fine,” Becca said impatiently. “I can handle this.”

Thor stepped forward when it became obvious that Steve had no intention of leaving the two to their own business. “Steven, perhaps we should—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve demanded hotly, pushing forward towards where Natasha stood, eyes wide and surprised and—if Thor was not simply seeing things—a little intimidated. Thor barely managed to intercept Steven before he reached the two women, catching Steven around the waist and dragging him back before he did something foolish.

Steven had been in therapy three times a week since before Thor had returned to Earth, following a visit from his former almost-love and his friends, accepting help from an entire team of therapists—because Anthony cared _deeply_ for those he called his team, and he spared no expense. Thor had heard Pepper mutter about not leaving the man unsupervised with an internet connection and his own credit card anymore.

Though Steven appeared to be doing better, his temper got the better of him often, and Thor had seen Steve in the aftermath enough times to know he _hated_ that he was a slave to his own emotions to such an extent. He’d learned to intercept Steven before he did something he regretted—and Thor was certain he’d regret yelling at Natasha. He’d regret grabbing her and shaking her, as he likely would have.

He’d regret stepping in, not letting Rebecca handle this herself.

“Apologies, ladies,” Thor said smoothly, dragging Steven back towards the bedrooms as though he weighed nothing, smoothing his features into something approximating neutral. “Might I suggest you continue your… _discussion_ in a more private place?”

“No need,” Becca spat icily, turning her gaze from Steven, who had finally ceased struggling in Thor’s arms, to Natasha. “I think everything we needed to say has been said.” Natasha opened her mouth to say something—though Thor couldn’t possibly fathom _what_ —but Rebecca didn’t let her speak. “No, Nat,” she said, her expression crumpling a little as she looked at the woman she—apparently—loved. “You’ve said it all. I’m done, I’m _done_. Go back to Clint. Tell him what you did.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and she spat, “See if he’s okay with it. I’m not.”

With that, she pushed forward, past Natasha and Thor and Steve, who still stood in the doorway towards the bedrooms, slipping past them without another word. Natasha stood still in the middle of the living area, expression frustratingly blank, even for one as adept to reading them as Thor.

“Steve,” she said finally, her voice surprisingly soft. “Steve, I didn’t mean—”

“Get out,” Steve spat, voice hoarse, muscles tensed where Thor was still holding him back. “Get out, Nat. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

When he struggled this time, Thor let him go, watching him follow Becca down the hallway for a moment before he turned to Lady Natasha again. He was unsure how to proceed—Lady Natasha was his friend, of course, but Lady Rebecca and Steven were… they were his friends before all of the others. Natasha had just broken Rebecca’s heart, and Thor…

Thor’s loyalty, first and foremost, lay with Steven and Rebecca.

“I think it is time you leave,” he said calmly. He kept his eyes firmly on Natasha’s when he raised his voice somewhat and said, “I will make sure whatever belongings of yours remain are returned later today. J.A.R.V.I.S. Kindly revoke Lady Natasha’s privileged access to our floor and sleeping quarters.”

“Certainly, Master Thor,” J.A.R.V.IS. replied. “Agent Romanoff, if you would proceed to the elevators?”

He spared the redhead one more glance before he followed Steven and Rebecca. He found them in Steven’s room, sat on his bed together, shoulders and thighs pressed together, Becca’s head leaning against Steven’s shoulder as she sobbed, “Why would she—I wouldn’t have been _angry_. I wouldn’t hav—I would’ve… I would’ve understood; I’d have been hurt but I would’ve understood. Why didn’t she just _tell_ me?”

Thor winced at the bitter hurt and disappointment in Rebecca’s voice, but struggled to find anything to say. He was certain he had left more than a few maidens sobbing in his wake as Natasha had Rebecca, but he had never deliberately concealed his intentions as it appeared the Lady Natasha had.

As it stood, there was very little Steven or him _could_ say.

Thor sighed, shaking his head sadly as Steve attempted to whisper comforting words to Rebecca as she sobbed against his shoulder. He settled on the bed on Rebecca’s other side, curling his arm around her so that she was effectively cradled between his body and Steven’s.

He felt her shudder lightly before she tipped her head back to rest against his arm, smiling weakly. “Is she gone?” she asked quietly, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and heartbroken, and Thor found, startlingly, he was willing to do whatever he could to erase the heartbreak from her eyes.

Rebecca had spent weeks— _months_ —ensuring his and Steven’s continued wellbeing, and Thor found it high time they return the favor.

He nodded, offering her the kindest smile that he could. “Yes. I took the liberty to rescind her access to our abode as well.” He glanced to Becca and swallowed thickly before he offered, “If there are… things she has left that you would like to return, I’d be more than willing to do so in your stead.”

“You don’t have to see her, Becks,” Steve added cautiously, rubbing his thumb in circles against the back of her shoulder. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if Tony tries to boot her from the Tower altogether.”

Thor considered that, and found he could not fault Steven’s logic. Anthony had shown himself to be incredibly protective of those he considered family in the past—it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility to think he would react poorly to Natasha hurting Rebecca, given Anthony and Rebecca’s close bond, as Lady Carter’s only godchildren. Thor was, in all honesty, not even quite sure he would protest, should Stark decide Natasha was no longer welcome in his home.

Becca, however, seemed to think differently. “I’m not gonna let him do that,” she said firmly, glaring at Steve as though _he_ would be the one to kick Natasha out. “She’s an Avenger, she deserves a spot here as much as the rest of you do.” She heaved a sigh and shook her head, settling down against Thor’s side again. “Besides, I’m gonna have to see her anyway. We work together.”

She sounded devastated at the mere prospect, and Thor was still a little taken aback by the strong urge he felt to shield his friend from certain heartache. 

“Becca,” he breathed, curling his fingers around her shoulder lightly, applying light pressure to assure her he was there.

“It’s…” Becca sighed. She shook her head and smiled sadly. “It’s not okay, but… I’ll deal with it.” She looked to Steve, who still seemed to be seething, held in place only by Becca’s shoulder pressed against his. “We can’t just… we can’t never see each other again. I’ll forgive her. Eventually.”

“How?” Steve demanded, a little harsher than the situation called for. “How can you—”

Becca shrugged. “I mean… she sucks. This was…” Her voice broke, and she shuddered before she whispered, “I love her. I just… In the end, I just want her to be happy, even if that’s not with me.”

She smiled sadly. “I’ll get over it.”

Thor nodded sagely, but offered no further reply. He did not think he would be so forgiving, should he be in Rebecca’s shoes—he was not quite certain he had it in him to be so kind. Almost immediately, his thoughts drifted to his friends on Asgard, and the ache of missing them             hit him harder than it had since the day he’d left Asgard.

Their lack of response to Loki’s death had hurt him _deeply_ , because much as he understood that they had not always gotten along with Loki, he had believed that they understood how much he meant to Thor, and that he was a good person—if a slightly mischievous one.

But perhaps… perhaps if Rebecca could find it within her heart to forgive Natasha, Thor could find it within his to forgive his friends for their callous reaction to his betrothed’s death.

“I won't let this hurt the team,” Rebecca whispered, drawing Thor from his thoughts as she moved, abruptly tipping forward into Steve’s chest, clutching at him in a desperate embrace, quietly sobbing onto his shirt as he held her. “But it _hurts_ , Steve. It hurts _so_ much.”

Steve didn’t reply right away, merely tightened his arms around her, shooting Thor a concerned glance before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It's going to be okay,” he whispered. “We’ll make it okay again. Somehow.”

He sounded so certain… Thor almost believed him.

Almost.

——————

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my darling Juulna, who always helps me get through these chapters!


	3. Sequel Notification

The sequel to this little monster is now up! 

 

Thanks for your continued support, darlings! See you there :D 

 

Love, Annaelle

**Author's Note:**

> For a blooper: 
> 
>  
> 
> Initially, Tony would be alone confronting Fury, calling up Peggy when he refused to listen, leading to Peggy being a gem, as she always is: "NICHOLAS JANE FURY, don’t make me come over there to smack you, young man.” Unfortunately, we couldn't fit it into the fic properly :D 
> 
> Thank you for reading!   
> Comments are love!


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